


Plates and Pleats

by Nautilusopus



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: BARRET IS A GOOD DAD, Clothes Shopping, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Minor Character Death, Police Brutality, askbox prompts, crisis core and dirge still non-canon, no betas here, oblivious toddlers, pre-game, y'know for fluff this sure does get dark huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 17:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14218632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nautilusopus/pseuds/Nautilusopus
Summary: Marlene is growing out of her clothes. Barret, accordingly, takes her shopping in the Sector 8 slums.





	Plates and Pleats

**Author's Note:**

> This one was sent in anonymously: http://nautilusopus.tumblr.com/post/166892407486/pre-game-barret-going-shopping-for-clothes-for
> 
> I've been waiting to post this for a while but now I guess I'm using it as a buffer, considering a lot of personal shit just came up and the next few chapters of The Number I might be a little slow in coming. Still, I'm also glad I actually get to put this one up now. The tag needs more Barret shit anyway.
> 
> Belderiver came up with this title, sort of. Think I'm keeping this one.

"I just don't think this is a good idea, Barret, I'm sorry."

Barret looked up from his oatmeal to see Tifa watching him with a look of concern on her face. Next to him, Marlene obliviously continued sculpting her own oatmeal into patterns against the wall of her bowl.

"She's grown out of everything else she had, and there's no telling when I'll have money again after this," said Barret. "I ain't waiting another two months to dress her in potato sacks. Not my daughter."

"I know," said Tifa, "I know, but -- just, this whole place has been swarming with MPs lately. And you're not exactly inconspicuous," she added, tapping her right forearm for emphasis.

"Nobody's been able to ID me at... work yet," said Barret. "Sure, they might be able to pick me out of a crowd. But right now they ain't lookin' for me in the first place, far as I know."

"Yes, but --"

"No buts. I made up my mind last week." Barret stood, taking his bowl back to the kitchen along with Marlene's, since she seemed to have moved on from eating to sculpting entirely. "Thank you for breakfast."

"You're welcome," said Tifa, her face still painted with worry as she turned away from them to begin washing. She was a good find, was Tifa. All the social grace of a plucked chocobo, but then Barret had never been one for social grace anyway. It didn't hurt the girl had enough business sense to run a bar at the age of nineteen, and, more importantly, could fight better than most grown men he'd come across. Not bad for someone that had shown up in Midgar out of the blue with empty pockets and one hell of a grudge, not unlike himself.

"Come on, baby girl," said Barret, spitting on one corner of a napkin and removing the oatmeal crusted around Marlene's face. "Go wash your hands and get your coat on. We're going to the shops."

Marlene, who had been sulking over the confiscation of her sculpture, immediately brightened at the prospect of visiting the underbelly of Sector 8. She was too young to know any better. Sure, it was no Sector 6, but there were all sorts of unsavoury folk that lurked around the slum markets in general. Not everyone was there to shop for objects, and while a lot of what went on was technically illegal, the rich bastards up on the plate didn't care enough to bother policing the area much. And when they did, you were just as likely to be shot by an MP as you were to actually be helped by one.

The shops on the plate were nicer and cleaner in general, and there was a little less poison in the air, but going topside required a lot of paperwork that would put Barret in a system he'd worked very hard thus far to stay out of. Marlene deserved something nice, but he couldn't give that to her if he was gunned down by the MPAF. Maybe one day.

Barret didn't have a state-approved ID, and instead opted for a carriage ride. Marlene loved getting to pet the chocobos, and the seats were bigger anyway. It was safer than walking without Biggs around to provide a little extra muscle.

Sector 8 was a disorienting blur of neon lights and shouting vendors, and Marlene was having the time of her life. He took her to look at the vegetable stalls first. It was difficult to get her to actually eat them, but she loved looking at all the shapes and colours and proudly announcing the name of each one to him.

"How old is she?" asked the man running the stall curiously. He seemed about Barret's age, and his accent appeared to place him as Wutaian. Unusual, but not too out of place in the slums. It wasn't surprising he hadn't been able to make it up onto the plate, but it was strange that he was here at all. A lot of people were still sore about the war.

"Three and a half," announced Marlene before Barret could say anything. "This one's a eggplant!" she said, picking up said vegetable and holding it up to the shopkeeper proudly. Marlene loved purple.

"So it is," said the shopkeeper. It wasn't a surprise that he recognised them, given how often they went through this particular routine.

"We can't stay that long," said Barret, more to Marlene than the shopkeeper. "We ain't buyin' anything today, we gotta get you some clothes. Say goodbye."

"Bye, Fruitsman!" said Marlene as he led her away. "Fruitsman" waved goodbye in return.

The crowds thickened as they headed further into the marketplace. Ideally he'd have liked to hold her, but a gun wasn't much good for carrying groceries, and Marlene got fidgety if she was up on his shoulder for too long. The crowd got less and less savoury, too -- a few Shinra MPs loitering around the entrance of a bar; a huddle of men that appeared to be handing off something in a bag; and a woman wearing quite a bit of body glitter and very little else that Marlene pointed out to him specifically, claiming she wanted to buy a "fairy princess outfit" while they were out clothes shopping. The woman smiled and waved back at Marlene upon being noticed. Barret just grunted and walked a little faster.

The clothes store was mercifully empty. Barret didn't want to take any chances with a store with staff he didn't know, and this was the only one nearby that sold clothes for anyone as small as Marlene. The young woman at the counter led him to the back, where various articles of children's clothing (both new and used) were organised by colour. Unsurprisingly, Marlene made a beeline straight for a bright purple shirt with a picture of Mog the Moogle on it.

"You can pick out four outfits," said Barret. "Make sure they fit."

Four was probably too much, he thought, as he watched her sift through the clothes available. She'd outgrow them in six months, and then they'd have to do this all over again. Tifa only knew how to sew well enough to patch up small rips. Maybe it seemed a little selfish, but if Avalanche wound up hiring again, they'd have to get someone that knew how to let out clothes.

Marlene returned to him, dumping an armful of clothes onto the floor in front of him.

"Don't put them on the floor," said Barret sternly. "It's dirty." He looked through her selections. Three dresses, the Mog shirt, and a skirt that had some strange green stain on the side. Not mako, probably. It looked more like cheap freeze-pop. Still, that probably meant it was marked down.

"Are you sure you want this one?" asked Barret, holding up a pink dress she'd picked out for herself. It looked new, which meant it was probably a little pricier.

Marlene nodded. "Like the princess!"

Barret sighed heavily. Pastel dress, hot pink glittery mini skirt, same difference. "Alright. You can carry the bag on the way back home, right?" He was saving his remaining hand for keeping a tight grip on Marlene.

She nodded solemnly, taking the responsibility of "grocery holder" very seriously at her age. "I can carry it. I wanna show Wedge me carrying it!"

A loud bang echoed throughout the slums as he finished paying for her clothes, and then another one. Immediately, Barret scooped her up and crouched low to the floor as the din of the crowd peaked into screams outside.

"What's happening?" asked Marlene, still too confused to be properly scared.

"Just stay quiet for me, baby girl," whispered Barret, as he crept behind the counter with the cashier's urging. "We're just gonna set for a while, okay? Can you -- can you look at our receipt? Make sure everything is all here?" he said, handing her the slip of paper. She was too young to read much, but maybe she could recognise the numbers. "But read it quiet."

Marlene nodded and immediately made a big show of carefully examining the paper as he clutched her to his body, his heart surely hammering loud enough for her to hear. His other arm -- the one that was of no use holding groceries -- was pointed at the door, whirring to life as he readied himself to fire at a moment's notice.

The general chatter of the crowd picked back up as the minutes ticked by, and Barret watched the cashier slowly crawl over to the front door for a look before straightening up and flashing a thumbs up at Barret. He stood himself, his legs beginning to shake as the adrenaline began to get to him, handing the shopping bag to Marlene.

"We're going home right now," said Barret. "Say goodbye, now."

"Bye, Clotheslady!" said Marlene, waving to the badly shaken cashier, who managed a weak smile before locking the door behind them.

Marlene complained quite a bit as he practically dragged her through the streets. The crowds hadn't dispersed much, though they all seemed to be talking amongst themselves. It was all too loud for him to make anything out. He spotted the prostitute from earlier attempting to peer over the crowds clustering around the stalls, and approached her, making sure Marlene was visible to her as well in case she said anything.

"I like your swimsuit!" said Marlene, smiling.

"Thank you," said the woman, who seemed pretty wary as well. "I like your dress, too."

"Who was that?" cut in Barret. He really didn't want to spend too much time here if he didn't have to.

"I don't know," said the woman. "I was in the alley when it happened. I don't think it was a robbery or nothin', though, because the fuss sure died down fast." She paused, looking around to make sure everyone was too busy chatting amongst themselves to listen, then spoke again. "Those two MPs, though -- I didn't see 'em around when I came back out to check on things, and they were the only ones that woulda had guns. But you didn't hear that from me."

It figured. At least it was probably just a bar fight. All the more reason to get home.

"I didn't hear nothin'," agreed Barret. "You have a good day, now."

"You too," she said. "You stay outta trouble."

Barret's pace slowed as he continued to cut through the crowd -- something easy to do when you were six foot plus and had a machine gun grafted to your body. He was almost to the Sector 7 gate when he noticed a large crowd of people clustered around the produce stand. He couldn't see what everyone was looking down at, but a feeling of dread began to dawn on him when he saw a splash of deep red sprayed against the wall behind it.

Barret scooped up Marlene and positioned her so his chest was blocking his view.

"I can walk myself!" she protested. "Put me down! _I can walk myself!"_

He could hear the beginnings of a tantrum edging into her voice as it rose in pitch. "I'll put you down when we get back to Sector 7," he said.

 _"I wanna walk myself!"_ she screamed, her cries muffled by his chest as he strode past the produce stand. His shirt began to damp with her tears, and she continued to shove against him. He was beginning to get a few looks, but most people were still too focused on the produce stand to care, and either way he didn't dare let go.

By the time they got home, she was a crabby, worn-out mess. Tifa was at least nice enough not to say, "I told you so," though Barret could hear it in the corners of her words every time she spoke.

"What happened?" she asked, glancing between Barret and Marlene, who was still sulking by the television, holding the shopping bag like a stuffed toy.

"Nothing," said Barret, as he began to pour himself a drink. "That's just the kind of place we're in."

Maybe one day, Marlene could manage to forgive him for it.

**Author's Note:**

> It's still 39 to go because I went and accepted another fucking prompt because I'm an idiot.


End file.
